


Almost

by EscapingEarth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 05:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapingEarth/pseuds/EscapingEarth
Summary: In which all Aziraphale wants is to kiss Crowley. "Whenever you're ready, Angel"





	Almost

Crowley is sprawling casually across the sofa, a large, half-empty wine glass dangling precariously from his slim fingers. If there were any books in his spill-vicinity, there aren’t now. It’s hard to know who’s responsible for that tiny miracle. It hardly matters. 

A casual observer wouldn’t notice a thing, but I know what he wants. I can feel it. It’s impossible not to, the air is buzzing with it, and I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if my hair crackles from the static of it. I want it too. Desperately.

Right then. If I can face down Satan himself with nothing but a flaming sword and hope then I can manage this. I straighten my bowtie a little and take myself over to the sofa. I don’t know why I make that little motion but it stirs something in Crowley. He sits up; ramrod straight and soberer than before alcohol had even been invented.  
I sit next to him, attempting an air of casualness. The shaking of my hands is most definitely giving me away, treacherous limbs. We’re pressed together, a familiar proximity yet suddenly completely alien. I lean across his torso and pluck the wine glass from his fingers, setting it on the side table which hadn’t existed a moment before.

My eyes meet his – when we are alone in my shop he rarely wears his sunglasses any more – and there’s something untranslatable in them, somewhere between longing and hope and resignation. My tongue comes out of its own accord, wets my bottom lip. His eyes flicker downwards with a stuttering gasp.   
A sensation spreads through me, like a gentle fire warming my veins and I’d quite like to feel more of that. To share it with Crowley. The time has come, and I am frozen in place.

"Whenever you're ready, angel" His voice, a barely audible whisper, causes tears to spring into my eyes. I can feel it filling the atmosphere, inflating it like an enormous balloon, a great fog of emotion rolling out across the streets of London.

I close my eyes. I shuffle closer. We're sat, knee to knee, on the sofa in my back room, a thousand words that don't need saying dangling in the air between us, a thousand motions I don't know how to reach hovering beyond my grasp. I can do this.

I know it's all Crowley wants. I know it's a simple thing to do. I know it's meant to be nice. But I can't quite wrap my head around it. Stop fussing, Aziraphale, you are a Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate, you can kiss one demon!

Can I?

He's waiting for me, still. He's been waiting for so long, I don't want to leave him waiting any longer. I lean in closer still. I can feel his breath on my face, now, mingling with my own. I stop breathing. 

I can't do this. 

I grasp blindly for Crowley's hand, and he finds me first. Wrapped in the comforting warmth of his fingers I'm sure I'll find the strength to give him what he needs. Breathing. Breathing. Let me try breathing again. And move, angel!

A finger under my chin stays me. I can feel my eyelids flutter open, and bright, beautiful yellow irises flood my vision. 

"Enough, Angel." And I'm coming undone, relief in such strong waves I might drown us both, but then the guilt comes and I almost choke on that. He sighs, a deep, sad sigh. "What am I going to do with you?" He's smiling, sadly, so sadly, and moisture pricks at my eyes again. 

He pulls his hand from mine and I release an involuntary whimper, but then his hands are cupping my face, and his eyes are staring at me endearingly, and nothing has ever felt nicer or safer, not even Heaven itself. Then he kisses me.

In less than a fraction of a heartbeat Crowley closes the space between us and his lips are pressed gently to my forehead, a ghost of a touch that is over before I can blink in surprise yet feels like it lasts for an eternity, and this, this is falling apart. I'm unravelling at the seams, melting between my demon's hands and dripping through the floorboards. I must have discorporated because I feel like I am floating, my entire body vibrating - I still have a body. Not discorporated then. 

I stare up at Crowley desperately, hungrily searching his eyes for what on earth that was and he's alternating between bashfully sliding his gaze away and staring at me with joy and hope because he can tell I didn't hate that and maybe someday I'll do it properly for him.

I hope I can manage it soon. I almost managed today. Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> This was surprisingly difficult to write. Also, if Aziraphale is coming off overly angsty about a kiss that's because I'm low-key projecting my own nervousness onto him.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged.


End file.
